Page 33 of You’re The One (Saints Hockey #2)

THIRTY-ONE

Mia is perched on the counter with a spoon in her mouth. Just like she was a couple of weeks ago, eating Marshmallow Sky. I’ll never not think of her when I think of blue ice cream.

I stocked it the second I got home—just in case this moment ever came about.

Her on my counter.

In my space.

Just us.

Tomorrow is our last day in Chicago, and the final group date before the next elimination. That’ll bring it down to three women.

And naturally, the producers decided it should involve hockey. The women playing it, to be more specific. It should be… interesting. And I’m sure Ryan will take the opportunity to dig for information. Something I’m not exactly looking forward to, since I have no idea what the hell to tell him.

But I don’t want to think about any of that tonight. I want to soak in this unexpected alone time with the girl who’s quickly taking over my whole fucking heart.

Mia sticks the spoon into the pint of ice cream, sets it on the counter next to her hip, and picks up the dessert plate the chef left us.

She takes a bite, then smiles. That secret one from her dating app profile. The one I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have aimed at me.

She started giving me that look weeks ago, and I don’t think I’ll ever get my fill. If I had to choose one thing I missed most this past week, it’s that particular look. The one I got out of her at least once a day on our morning walks. No cameras. No other people. Just her and me.

The handful of days the show’s schedule kept us apart felt like a lifetime. And after what happened at the airport, I started to wonder if we’d ever get another moment alone.

I close the gap between us, gripping her behind the knees and pulling her close.

She lifts a spoonful of flourless chocolate cake, topped with a sliced strawberry, and brings it to my mouth.

I take the bite, though I’d rather taste the flavor from her lips.

Swallowing, I ask, “Dance with me?”

Her brows scrunch together. “There’s no music.”

I pull open a drawer and take out the device that connects to my music streaming app and sound system. “Pick something.”

“Oh, you’re trusting me with the music choice… risky.”

She spends a few minutes searching, and I spend them watching her. The concentration in her brow. The flutter of her lashes. The tilt of her lips. The soft pillow of them.

And just like that, I’m back to wanting to kiss her.

Fuck , who am I kidding? It’s all I’ve thought about since our first.

The opening guitar chords of a song I recognize but can’t immediately place drift through the room.

Mia hops off the counter and steps in front of me, slinging her arms around my neck.

I pull her close, resting my hands on the small of her back.

When the lyrics start—“ August, honey, tasted sweeter with you ”—I remember it.

“Interesting song choice,” I murmur into her ear as we sway slowly.

“You don’t know it? Or don’t like it?”

“August by flipturn. And I like it fine, it just doesn’t strike me as a happy song.”

“I’m surprised you’re a lyric listener. I wouldn’t have guessed… but we’ve already established I’ve been wrong about a few things regarding you.” She huffs a breathy laugh.

“Doesn’t everyone listen to lyrics?”

“I don’t know, I've always thought some people feel music and others just enjoy it. Maybe that doesn’t make sense?—”

“It does.”

It’s actually a perfect way to frame it. Some people feel things more deeply, and Mia is definitely one of them. I am, too. Though I don’t usually like people to see that side.

Mia sings softly, running her fingers through the hair at the base of my skull.

“What do you think it means?” I ask, my lips skimming the skin just below her ear. “The lyrics, I mean.”

“The singer said it’s about a relationship that only worked out in August. In that month, everything was perfect and felt like it would last forever. But outside of it, everything fell apart.”

“Are you trying to tell me something? It is August.”

“I guess we’ll see, right…” she says, her voice soft with the smallest trace of uncertainty.

“Mmm,” I hum, singing along with the bridge. Determined to prove our story will last far past August.

Goosebumps rise on her skin, trailing from the curve of her neck to her collarbones. I follow them with my mouth, pressing slow kisses along their path.

“Dom,” she rasps.

I pull back enough to cradle her jaw with both hands and bring my lips down on hers.

A soft meld of skin. But so much more than that.

Just like my feelings, the kiss deepens—lips and tongues and teeth. A slow unraveling, and a sudden surge all at once.

I was right. The bitter chocolate tastes better off her tongue, softened by the sweet strawberry on her lips.

I never want it to end. I want more.

I want to savor the little things I’ve never had. Yet, I want to drown in it all.

I break the kiss, easing back enough to rest my forehead against hers. We breathe each other in and try to reorient.

“Why’d you stop?” she whispers.

“I’m trying to take my time with you.”

She lifts, and I automatically support under her thighs as her legs wrap around me. She kisses along my jaw until she reaches my ear. “What if I don’t want you to?”

A low sound rumbles from me as I set her on the counter, the abandoned ice cream tumbling over, sure to leave a sticky mess.

“We shouldn’t do this,” I mutter, but the words are hollow. Every part of me thinks this is exactly what we should do. The only part that’s hesitant is the one that’s worried about how we’ll move forward. How we’ll navigate the remainder of filming.

But most importantly, I want to know what Mia’s thinking. We haven’t had a real conversation since the kiss, and it’s eating at me. I need her to know this isn’t just about her body. I want more. I want us to be on the same page.

“Why?” she asks, still moving against me, trying to bring us closer together.

I kiss her cheek. “We haven’t talked.”

“What do we have to talk about?”

“About us.” I kiss her lips. “About this .”

“We can talk after.” She loops her arms around my neck, her lips so close it’s impossible not to kiss them. Her tongue flicks out, tracing the seam of my mouth in a way that makes it hard to think.

I ease away again. “What if we don’t agree?”

“We’ll compromise.” She tugs me back.

I meet her gaze, raising a brow. “ You’re going to compromise?”

“I’ll try.”

I chuckle.

“I’ll try really, really hard.” Each word lands with a kiss to my jaw and a grind of her hips.

“You’re a bad influence,” I tease, kissing her neck, over her collarbones, and down the valley between her breasts.

So much for self-control. This woman could convince me to commit manslaughter with just a look.

“Am I?” she breathes, reaching up to tug the neckline of her dress down—her breasts spilling free, perfect and flushed. Her dusty-pink peaked nipples, begging for my mouth.

I bury my face in them. “Fuck, you’re killing me.”

She arches her back, pushing herself toward me.

My tongue drags a long, slow lick across her nipple, pulling a whine from her and a groan from me.

“Dom.” My name in that breathy moan hits harder than any drug. And I say that with absolute certainty, even though I’ve never taken a single hit. Nothing could have the kind of effect she has on me.

“You like that?” I lap her other nipple and draw it into my mouth, sucking hard.

I glance up, searching for her eyes. She nods, fingers diving into my hair, holding me there. I’m not complaining.

I reach down to adjust my cock, already hard and leaking, straining against the seam of my slacks.

She lays back, stretched across my island, and I decide right then— she’s the only thing I ever want decorating my place.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous. You know that?”

Her pale blue eyes stay locked on mine as she bends her knees, heels bracing on the edge of the counter.

The skirt of her dress rides up, revealing white cotton panties, damp at the center.

She pinches one nipple, her other hand trailing down her stomach, pausing at the waistband of her underwear.

“Dom, I need to come.”

“So, come.”

“Huh?” Her lips pull down, brows tightening.

“I want to see what you like.” I stroke myself through my slacks. “Show me.”

She licks her lips, her fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her panties.

“Like this?” she asks, voice all mock innocence.

I nod, jaw clenched.

Fuck , I want to taste her.

I start second-guessing this plan as I watch her hand move to her clit. The way the fabric hides just enough makes it worse. A tease. Torture.

She moans, and I meet her gaze.

“You too,” she breathes.

My eyes flick to her still-moving hand, then back up to hers.

“I want to see you come, too.” The hand that was teasing her nipple slides down, gliding over her stomach before settling on her inner thigh. “Right here. With me.”

I was fully prepared to get myself off in the shower after she came and I cleaned her up with my tongue, but I did not expect this side of Mia. I should’ve—she’s done nothing but surprise me from the moment I met her. And the surprises just keep getting better.

“Are you sure?”

She nods.

I take a step back, just enough to unbuckle my belt and ease down my fly. I grip myself, the fabric of my boxers mostly hiding her view. “Is this okay?”

“No. I want to see.”

I raise a brow. “Fair is fair.”

Her raspy laugh fills the room, and it turns me on just as much as the view in front of me.

The hand that was gripping her thigh moves to her panties, and she pulls them to the side.

“Fuck, Mia.”

My hand moves, stroking from base to tip. I can’t look away from her perfect, wet cunt or the way her fingers slide through her center.

“Fair is fair,” she echoes.

And I don’t need to be told twice. I pull my pants down to free my dick, tucking my boxer briefs beneath my balls.

She props herself up on one bent elbow to get a better view, but her fingers don’t stop moving over her clit. Her breathing grows more labored as she works herself to the edge.

I squeeze at the base of my shaft to fend off coming.

This might be the hottest moment of my life.

Mia moans. Hands down, it is the hottest moment of my life.

I can’t decide what to look at. My eyes ping-pong between the space between her thighs, her face, and her tits bouncing softly with every movement.

I glance down, watching her fingers work inside her pussy, her palm pressing firmly against her clit. When I look back up, her eyes are locked on my hand, still stroking my cock.

“Are you imagining me inside you, baby?”

“Yes,” she gasps. “Your cock is so pretty.”

I huff a laugh. “So is your pussy.”

“Dom, I’m close.”

“So am I, baby.”

“Fuck. I want you so bad,” she mumbles, almost incoherently.

“You have me.”

“Kiss me.” She tugs on my shirt with her free hand as she drops back against the countertop, and I bring my mouth to hers.

My hand keeps moving, knuckles skimming her thigh, while her own fingers work faster between her legs.

Her tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I groan. I’m holding on by a fucking thread.

“Come for me,” I grit out. “Come for me, Mia.”

And she does.

So fucking beautifully.

Her head tips back, and I bury my face in her neck. Her tits rub against my chest, separated only by the fabric of my shirt, and her hips keep moving, riding out her pleasure.

I come before I’m ready, painting her inner thigh with my release. I imagine it dripping down to her pussy, but I’m too spent to pull back and look.

I practically collapse on top of her, legs trembling, breathing uneven. We’re both still twitching, her fingers moving slowly through my hair, trailing down my spine.

I’ve never felt this kind of satisfaction. Not just the high of release, but something that feels both light and heavy in equal measure.

Belonging.

Safety.

Like I’ve finally landed somewhere that feels like home.

Fuck .